Internet Right To Be Forgotten

Skeletons In Your Closet? What If You Could Erase The Evidence?

If someone were to Google you, what would come up? Does simply reading that question send a chill or two down your spine? If not, you're lucky, but you're also the exception to the rule. For better or worse, the majority of us have made several embarrassing mistakes that are discoverable via search engine. These days, skeletons very rarely remain in their intended closets. Luckily, I'm currently self-employed. But if that every changes, if the powers that be ever decide to cease paying me for writing my wrongs, I'll wind up on job interviews. And some hypothetical future employer will Google the f*ck out of me.

They all do.

Lately, Europeans have been discussing something called "internet invisibility." This comes after the region's highest court overturned a longstanding ruling, so that EU law now allows people to pick and choose what the world at large can learn about them on the internet. It's revolutionary, really. So now, in theory, someone in Luxembourg who once dabbled in bondage porn can potentially scrub that dirty secret from their life's history trail, allowing them to move onto a career as a high-powered attorney. Of course that's an extreme example, but Europeans now have a leg up on us in a sense, in that they're no longer as haunted by the past as we may be.

Some are arguing against this, saying the ruling could be more harmful than helpful. On one hand, yes, we have the mythical bondage queen-turned-purveyor of justice, who, for the record, I'd like to date. But on the other hand, the ruling's opponents bring up a different scenario, one where a former child molester could erase his past and then obtain a lucrative job in a daycare. That, of course, opens up a massive can of worms on the European Google side of things. That issue: What information is deemed erasable vs. what information must remain on your existence's permanent record? That's not for me to decide, nor, if I'm being honest, care about.

I'm an American, damnit! Apple pie! Fireworks! The Expendables!

Though, I must say, my patriotic affinity for Stallone-inspired explosions aside, I do think this ruling is revolutionary. How many of us would use this feature if it were available in North America? What's that you say? Every single f*cking one of us?

Yep.

When I was in high school, I was an awkwardly tall, perpetually lurching horse's ass. That's not me being self-deprecating. This isn't a "woe is me" thing. That's me calling a spade a spade. In terms of Can't Hardly Wait, Mike Dexter I was not. Anyway, since working toward losing my virginity was a total impossibility, young Mr. Hoare had a solid chunk of free time on his hands. And what, pray tell, did I do with this free time? I created comedy. Alongside my skateboarding friends, I was at the helm of a sketch comedy series on Long Island's local cable access station. This was a decade prior to deciding that writing comedy would be my chosen vocation, which, thankfully, it currently is.

But make no mistake about it, every single nanosecond of that television show, all 36 episodes, were cringe-inducing dogsh*t. I recently hooked up a VCR and watched an old episode, in my house, alone. Let me tell you, I've never been less comfortable in my own skin. I wanted to hurl myself out the window.